


kiss me, know me, keep me

by falsettodrop



Category: Figure Skating RPF, Olympics RPF
Genre: F/M, Fix-It, Getting Together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-17
Updated: 2019-01-17
Packaged: 2019-10-11 20:11:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17453501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/falsettodrop/pseuds/falsettodrop
Summary: The stages of a work-in-progress, of sorts.





	kiss me, know me, keep me

**Author's Note:**

> (In case it isn’t clear: MMXV is 2015, MMXVII is 2017, and MMXIX is 2019.)
> 
> So it turns out that accumulated rage over out-of-character fanfiction can be a really great motivator. Who knew? Thanks to [bucketofrice](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bucketofrice/pseuds/bucketofrice) for fixing my grammar errors—you’re the greatest!

**MMXV**.

There is a splinter digging into her spine and she couldn’t care less.

The pain of it numbs the hurt. She fleetingly muses that she’ll be covered in pricks and bruises from fucking against an unmade house tomorrow, but she doesn’t care. She doesn’t care, she doesn’t care, she’ll take anything if that means she’ll be reminded of this again. Tessa can’t tell if she’s hurting if all she can feel is the pinching feeling in her back and the delicious presence of him inside her. She submerges herself in the feeling of him, desperate to rid herself of the piece of her that has been suppressed, the piece of her that wants him.

It happens on a technicality; it always does, and then it’s laid to rest until they revisit it again. Because, there it is: he isn’t with his girlfriend right now because they’re fighting over something or another. So, yes, it is happening on a technicality, but she’s doesn’t _care_ that that’s the only reason it may be happening—because he’s here, and she’s here, and they’re together again, and they both want this. God, they both want this.

Scott tends to talk during sex, but tonight he says no real words. He simply lets out these soft, wrecked noises as he thrusts into her, noises that send her spiraling until she can barely recall how she got here in the first place. _It doesn’t fucking matter_ , she thinks, it truly doesn’t matter at all; all that matters is that she’s here and until the night turns into day, she has nowhere else that she’d rather be.

Her thighs wrap around his hips and he holds her in the easiest lift they’ve done in the past two years. His lips are on her jaw, leaving wet, open-mouthed kisses in the space where he’s burrowed in her neck, and she can’t help but scratch him with her fingernails in response, marking him in the same way the wood is littering cuts into her back. He presses her against the sturdiest pane of wood they were able to find, filling her with a practiced method that leaves her keening. He knows her so well despite this only being one of the handful of times they’ve been together, but she expected nothing less from someone who spends his days taking care of her.

As Scott steadies himself, pushing into her over and over, she finds purchase on his body and thanks him for not leaving her empty. There was a hollowness that overcame her after Sochi, one that was unstoppable despite her strongest attempts. Sometimes when Tessa is alone, she feels lost and dispassionate, but then she’s with Scott again and the intensity of his aura lights her passion anew. She spent a year trying to rebuild herself by saying _yes, yes, yes_ , but the value of those affirmations was nothing when she’d been repressing the only _yes_ that had a chance to spark her to life again all along.

She casts her eyes over the house. Wreckage surrounds them. This house was once a home, but it was stripped bare to be rebuilt into something greater. She can see the bed of stars above her as he fucks her in the dead of the night, igniting her soul and making her come alive. Maybe it should be overwhelming, seeing all that’s left to be finished, but the house’s remains signify something real and true. It might not be any more than the broken bones of a skeleton, but the foundation is indestructible, and what has been destroyed in a tornado of unravelling can be (might be, will be) restored.

She’s thankful that Scott has found something to throw himself into again more than anything. Her mouth drops open and she moans as he finds his place in the deepest realm inside of her, coming back to her once again.

Scott’s looking at her, and she’s looking back. The feeling of him inside her makes her heart swell, but it hurts her to see his eyes searching her face like she has all the answers, like she’ll know better than him what this might be, like he’s trying to find that missing piece.

(She can’t give him any answers—she’s lost, herself; she’s just better at faking it than him.)

He doesn’t kiss her until he comes, but when he _does_ kiss her, she is crying. Streaming down her face are salty tears that she did not want, and she can’t help but sob into his neck. And then it’s not just her crying anymore, Jesus Christ, it’s him too. He kisses her with an urgency that leaves her raw, quiet and messy and so utterly _them_. It’s almost as if he believes that maybe, if he kisses her hard enough, he might find himself again.

She dissolves around him, allowing her eyes to stay open as she takes in the debris around them and the broken look on his face, and the last thought she has before she collapses is that they might not be perfect, but she doesn’t need them to be, she never did. All she needs is for him to hold her and push through it all, and maybe one day they’ll realize that losing themselves in the darkness doesn’t make them bad people; it simply makes them human.

 

 **MMXVII**.

They take an impromptu road trip on a peaceful afternoon in June.

Tessa doesn’t know where they’re going and frankly, she doesn’t care very much either. She’s here to sit in the passenger seat and keep Scott company, because they just had a momentous, joint family meeting to discuss what the next year of their lives will entail. Their families had nodded along as they explained the plans their Olympic year plans, voicing their support and providing input when prompted.

It was only when Danny had asked what they were planning on doing after the Olympics that Scott grew deathly silent. The kind of silent that she didn’t like him adopting, because Scott was loud and boisterous and ridiculous, and he was only quiet in moments of uncertainty.

(He had no reason to be uncertain, she thought; she’d be with him to figure it out, if that’s what he needed.)

She had stepped in and said they weren’t looking that far ahead, attempting to save Scott some worrying—but it had only deepened the crease in his forehead.

Scott drives on, letting the sound of the radio fill the silence of the car. She’s beginning to see only countryside, and she knows for a fact that they left Ilderton a while ago, but she’s not sure where they are anymore.

It’s only when they turn onto a certain street, surrounded by nothing but land and one particular house, that she understands. “Oh,” she breathes out, genuinely surprised that he’s chosen to take her back here.

He pulls up in the driveway, not really looking at her. “We’ve done a lot of work on it. Come see.”

It’s only when Tessa is far inside, looking at the detail done on the kitchen cupboards, that she decides to speak. “I haven’t been back here since…” _Since_ , she thinks. It’s been two years. She still has a vivid memory of the one night she visited, when she didn’t care at all that her skin was being pricked with wood chips. Her back had paid for it the next day, but she had been grateful for the reminder that what had happened was real.

He’s standing, leaning against the island, when a fond look passes over his face. “Yeah, I know,” he responds, sounding wistful. She remembers everything, and she was fairly certain that he did too—but the confirmation makes the hair on her arms stand tall.

She spares him a glance, genuinely wondering. They never really spoke about that time, despite their decision to talk about slip-ups when they grew older. But that time had been a lot—too many tears, too much intensity. Just, too much. “You don’t… regret what happened, that night?” she asks, trying not to think too hard about it.

Scott brushes some dust off the kitchen countertop and tilts his head at her. His smile is knowing and gentle, like he’s thought about this too many times. “How could I regret anything to do with you?”

She sucks in a breath and turns away, trying her hardest to hide her responding smile. God, he’s something else. She can’t believe she has such a sap for a best friend.

“You want to see more?” he questions, after a few beats. “We did quite a few things. It’s just been on hold since we started training again.”

She nods, eyes bright and wondrous. “Okay, I’d like that.”

He takes her on a mini-tour of the house, showing her the improvements. The bedrooms are half-finished, the downstairs just needs painting and appliances, and the living room is almost complete, furniture and all. He’s so close to finishing it, she thinks, amazed at how far he’s gotten. He’s on the edge of something beautiful with this house, and even though it’s incomplete, the sum of its parts is something of which he should be proud.

She sits on the sofa at the back of the living room that is still covered in plastic, not minding the crunching sound in exchange for relief in her legs. It’s beginning to darken outside, not because it’s late in the day, but because of the greyness in the sky above. Storm clouds fill the light blue sky, informing her that rain is to come.

Scott flops on the couch next to her, tired as well, and puts his head in her lap. Her fingers fly to his hair on instinct, musing that Marie-France will probably yell at him to cut it sometime soon. It’s long now, curling at the base of his neck—just how she likes it. She plays with his locks, nails scraping along his scalp while he breathes deep, chest rising and falling as he looks at the weather app on his phone.

“It’s going to rain.”

She glances outside and nudges him. “Shocker.”

He lets out a soft snort. “It’ll probably ruin your hair when we make that walk back to the car.” He had parked a bit further from the house because of the construction supplies crowding it, so they’ll definitely get soaked on their way out.

“Eh, it’s alright,” she says softly. “It was worth it to see how far you’ve come with this place.”

He hums. “It’s really coming along, isn’t it?”

 _It’s not the only thing_ , she remarks silently. The missing pieces are all there, but there’s something so comforting about this space, something so perfectly _Scott_. She nods in response, knowing he’s searching her face for approval.

When she looks down, he’s giving her a soft smile that she didn’t even ask for. “Thanks for coming with me.”

“Anytime,” she responds, meaning it. “I figured you needed some… time, or something.” Or something. She doesn’t quite know what it is he needs, but she does know that he needs her. It’s something he’s reiterated to her all season long, reaffirming how thankful he is that she’s in his life, holding him up. It was unneeded, obviously—where else would she be?

“Can I tell you something?” Scott asks, after a moment of silence.

She makes a noise of affirmation, sinking her hand back in his hair soothingly.

“I know that we’re looking ahead to a certain point, and I’m proud of us for all that we’ve accomplished so far,” Scott begins, quietly. So, they’re talking about what happened at the meeting today. “But the future terrifies me, Tess. Fuck, I don’t know what I’m going to do when I don’t have competitive skating and _you_ to fall back on.”

Her lips curve in a slight smile. “Why would you need to be without me?” she asks in reply, the answer coming easier to her than she thought it would.

“Don’t I need to—I don’t know—stop using you as my safety net? Spread my wings and learn to fly, or some shit?”

“Am I a safety net?” she wonders, not offended, simply thoughtful.

He sighs, almost in frustration. “I mean—no, you’re not. But everything with you is always so easy, because it’s you. Life is supposed to be more difficult than that, isn’t it?”

She’s not sure it is, but she understands where he’s coming from. This is a recurring dilemma that she deals with every few months, wondering what else is out there and if this is really it. If it is, she’s almost happy—but is she supposed to be content with that? Isn’t she supposed to aim higher, aim for the stars, aim for _more_? And she does want more, but at the same time, she doesn’t quite think _more_ is what she expected it to be. Is it possible reach this level of satisfaction at such a young age?

“I’m not sure, Scott,” she says honestly. “But I think people sometimes glorify sadness and despair. Happiness isn’t overrated. Comfortability isn’t overrated, either. It’s a happy place.”

He raises his chin on her lap, and her attention is brought to his lips. So plush, so eager, so wanting. She brings her hand out of his hair to trace his cupid’s bow and he kisses the tip of her finger. It’s easy as that, she realizes, when she leans down to capture his mouth in a kiss, knowing that’s what he’s aiming for. Sometimes it doesn’t need to be difficult.

“This,” she says, lips pressing against his, “is a happy place.”

They change positions on the couch so that she’s in his lap and his hand splays across her belly, under her shirt. The feeling of his skin on hers blazes a quiet, tentative fire in her.

And so runs the old love song. Having sex with Scott is one of the simplest things she does. It doesn’t happen often, not at all, and it’s never planned, but when they both feel like it, they indulge. Their dynamic is bizarre, something they know all too well. It’s a friendship first and foremost, which leads way to sex on occasion if it comes up and they want to and there are no barriers. Things have changed so much since they were teenagers who messily fell into each, scared out of their minds that they might be ruining their relationship. As they grew older, sex became something inevitable; it turned into a part of them that they didn’t need an explanation for—the fact of the matter was that it was them, it was something they needed. Quite honestly, sex with Scott is one of the best things in her life, and she’s always happy to have the chance to be with him like this—bare, honest, and vulnerable.

It’s nothing like it was the last time they had sex here, quick and ruthless. He had barely prepared her because she didn’t need it, begging for him to fuck her against the wall, if you could call it that, not letting him use any fingers inside her before she had asked for his cock. She had been so desperate for him that he could do nothing more than oblige. And when he gave it to her, she had cried because it still wasn’t enough, she still wanted _more_ , and she wasn’t sure what _more_ was.

Every time they have sex, he plays her like a long-lost instrument, gentle and melodic, like he knew her in another life. There’s nothing gentle about this moment, per se—but melody does come into play, the sequence of events so seamless that it makes her question what they’re really doing. As he pushes his finger into her, adding another, and then another, until she’s sitting on him and riding him and fucking him with a shocking steadiness, the simplicity of this moment consumes her.

He takes her apart with a knowingness that leaves her ardent. There’s nothing easier than being with Scott, she thinks; the way they fit into each others bodies, the harmony of their concurrent moans, their movements to the rhythm of their beating hearts. _Aren’t love and sex supposed to be easy things?_ she ponders. That’s the kind of thing she has here with Scott, the kind of thing that she doesn’t have to think twice about—she knows it, she does it, and it’s incredible.

She comes before him, breathing so hard against his mouth that she’s not sure whose breath is whose anymore, and she doesn’t care; every part of him is hers, too, and separation of state has always been a formality, anyway.

 

 **MMXIX**.

Scott tells her the house is finished one day, so she drives until she reaches it, excited to see the fruits of his labour. She reaches before he does, parking her car in the first slot in the driveway and turning the lock with the spare key secretly tucked away behind a pot in the shed. She shucks her jacket as soon as she gets inside, looking for the air conditioning module to adjust the temperature so that she’s not drowning in sweat in the heat of July.

She looks. Her eyes widen in amazement, taking in the expansion and the improvements. The house is magnificent now, clearly benefiting from the relentless effort that it’s been given in the past few months.

It’s clear that so much time has been put into this, from the carefully chosen white paint on the walls, to the design of the final stage of the kitchen, to the deck in the backyard. He’s even added potted plants on the inside, ones that won’t die when he’s gone for long periods of time. Although, that might be less often now that he’s more firmly based home in Ilderton, on the outs of a long-distance relationship which had kept him away from this project for a while. Scott had dived headfirst into finishing the house after he realized that he needed time to be alone, and she had supported him through it, constantly checking in on him and meeting him for brunch when they were both free and not working on joint ventures.

She’s proud of him. He never stopped trying to fix this house, always coming back to it after periods of impediments and absence. There were times that she thought that maybe he’d moved on and given up, but the finished product proves to her that he had not.

She hears the front door bang open when she’s in the office upstairs, and she wait for him to find her taking in the expanse of the bookshelves he built into the walls. It’s only when she hears his footsteps nearing the room that she stills, hands touching the painted wood, marvelling at their beauty. “It’s amazing,” she says in greeting.

He laughs, sounding so fucking happy that he could burst. “Thank you, T. I’m… glad you could see it again.”

She shakes her head in awe. “No, you don’t understand. This is… it’s gorgeous, Scott. It’s…” _basically my ideal house_ , she thinks, but keeps that one to herself. It’s clearly Scott’s as well, since he rebuilt it from bones into this.

“I like it, too,” he says, more humble than he should be. “Yeah, I… I’m proud of what it turned into.”

Tessa walks up to him, grasping his hand in hers. A squeeze marks her pride in him. “You should be.”

Scott looks much too bashful. Not wanting to emphasize this accomplishment, he switches gears. “Have you seen everything?”

“Downstairs and here, but I haven’t touched the bathrooms or bedrooms yet.”

“There’s a laundry room, upstairs, too,” he informs her, walking into the hallway so that she’ll follow. “I’ll show you.”

And show her, he does. He takes her hand and pulls her to greater heights, introducing her to this place he calls his own. She remembers the first time she saw this, the rooms knocked down and the panes of wood in place for walls. It had been a mess, but years of service have shown her that Scott is nothing if not persistent.

The master bedroom is so large that it has a den with chairs. She’s speechless from the difference that four years can make. She stands, looking at the painting he has hung up on the wall while he sits on one of the chairs.

“You know,” Scott starts. “I always thought that after everything was over, I’d need to start my own legacy or something.”

Tessa turns her body toward him in lieu of telling him she’s listening, hand still touching the painting.

“I had all these plans. All these dreams. And you were in all of them, of course, you’re my… you’re my best friend,” he continues, voice tinted with honesty. “I expected that I’d turn to you for all my important decisions, for everything to do with my career. If I needed a second opinion on something in my life.”

This is something he’s told her before, but she’s touched nonetheless. “I’m glad,” she tells him, smiling. “I want to be here for it all.”

“I… I thought it was because you’ve always been so important to me, so of course I’d keep you in my life,” he rushes out, sinking further into the chair. She’s beginning to get a sense that this isn’t just another Scott speech; he’s trying something, here, and she straightens her back, wondering where he’s going with this. “But—every time I looked at my future, there was always a missing piece. Something unknown. Some _one_ unknown,” he goes on, looking sheepish, almost. “But… there was still you. Always you.”

Her mouth feels dry, and there’s a traitorous lump in her throat, but she swallows around it.

“And I guess I’m just beginning to wonder,” he breathes, standing suddenly, eyeing the moulding on the edges of the ceiling. “I had all this stuff I wanted to do by myself, important life events that needed to be ticked off. A wife, a baby, a _family_ , a—” he looks to his right, closer to where she’s standing, and she holds her breath. “A house.”

Tessa watches him, considering. “Well, you’re clearly on your way there.”

He locks eyes with her, finally, and his eyes are blazingly intense. “Am I?”

“Aren’t you?” she returns. Her eyes are stinging a bit from taking him in, but she doesn’t want to close them at all; she’s scared she’s going to miss something incredibly important if she blinks even once.

He shakes his head, breathes deep, and steps a little closer to her. “This isn’t… it isn’t the same as how I felt after Sochi,” he tries to explain. “Lost. Like I was just getting by and I had no idea what I was doing with my life.”

“Then what is it like?” she asks, waiting, waiting, waiting.

He reaches her, finally, cupping her face in the palms of his hands, and tells her: “It’s like… now. Now, when I know what I want, and I know what I have, and—and—” he’s stuttering, and there’s this terrified look in his eyes, but he pushes on— “I don’t need anything else. I don’t… There’s… no more cloudiness. And there’s no one unknown in my future. I have everything I want, already.” He presses their foreheads together, and murmurs, “I have _you_.”

She closes her eyes, and it’s then that she notices that her lashes are laden with tears. He’s doing this. He’s really doing this. There’s no fragility to this moment. When she opens his eyes, he’s still looking at her like she holds the key to his future. “Yeah,” is all she says, before she kisses him. “You do have me.”

Her lips touch his and she melts, falling into him as her knees turn to jelly. He keeps her upright, standing strong, and she wraps her arms around his neck so he can hold her in place. After everything they’ve been through, all the disastrous moments and the uneventful moments and the nothing moments in between—he wants her, he wants this, he wants them.

It’s daunting, seeing how close she is to getting what she’s always pretended she did not want, but when it comes, she’s undone. It’s an subconscious unfolding from there on out, knees knocking, blood flowing, mouths grasping where they belong.

She’s lying on the edge of his bed when she’s confronted with the softness of Scott’s _everything_ when they get their shirts off: the plush of his sheets, the silk of his hair, the dewiness of his skin, the butter of his wet tongue tasting her. He uses his mouth on her first, drinking her in as if the time they’ve spent apart has left him dehydrated.

In an instant, they become a traditional mathematical formula, the expression of their operations flowing effortlessly. The order is flexible, but the results are of value: the subtraction of their concerns, the addition of him inside of her, the division of their individual baggage shared in two, and the multiplication of their heart rates as they carry on. Numbers trouble her, since everything hinges on a delicate misunderstanding, but the possibility for infinity has never left her more breathless.

She looks at him and she knows—there is nothing she wants more than to keep him with her in this bubble forever. It isn’t that she didn’t have that before, either, but now she knows that she can have him in this way, too.

He’s grown around her like a knot, tangling until she’s tied up in nothing but a weed that she’d never want to be rid of. She can’t do anything in response but wrap herself around him, too, claiming him as hers, once and for all.

This time, when she falls into him again, it feels like coming home.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, you can find me on my [writing Tumblr](http://falsettodrop.tumblr.com), or for fandom and figure skating, on my [sideblog](http://viewsfromthestyx.tumblr.com).


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